


When Monsters Make Men

by robertstanion



Series: Hatchetober [7]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: "I think i've gone insane", Angst, F/M, Hatchetober Day 7: Monsters, House Fires, M/M, Metaphors, Religious Imagery, Songfic, The Black And White, and a songfic!!, heavy foreshadowing in the first part, i call this one "i've been studying romeo and juliet for 6 months", magic man with the funny words returns, mcnamander is only mentioned i swear, monsters and metaphors, paulkins is the only blatant ship, plosives, sibilance, this is smth id turn in for an english essay, top set english gang, tws: death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertstanion/pseuds/robertstanion
Summary: Emma and Paul had a chance of survival, but the universe has to follow a pattern, and The Black and White doesn't like the change.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Sam/Charlotte (mentioned), Ted/Charlotte (mentioned), Xander Lee/John McNamara (mentioned)
Series: Hatchetober [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949110
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	When Monsters Make Men

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware half of my metaphors make sense, but thAT IS THE POINT !! anyway was I inspired by @ShhImWriting with the concept of each apocalypse having a human figure because it is one of my favourite concepts I’ve ever seen emerge from starkid ao3? By god I was. 
> 
> anyway, Webby - "the spider," Astraia - The Apotheosis btw. 
> 
> and the song is Harness Your Hopes by Pavement, it just springs apotheosis vibes man

Throughout the day, she hadn’t just been worrying about herself, but the other’s that had followed her. There’d been the couple who were sweet, sweeter than syrup, that sinned on several sabbaths. They forgot that the entire point of marriage was to remain loyal to one another, but the husband was a careless wreck who didn’t give a fuck, who was attractive enough to bargain his way into budgets, while the wife sought for something, or some _one_ to love her, to want her, to _need her._ The sins caught up, and they became cauterised when the fire hit the roof. For the lover? He was only there to check her out. He promised himself, no strings attached, and he broke his own promise. He’d been the one to watch as her grey eyes turned electric, as the sparks spat at him though he wanted to make her feel better. Why was he in the wrong? They’d never know now, for Sam and Charlotte were dead, and Ted burned with them.

As the day drew closer to the drunks that damned her, she began to bother her body with the itch that couldn’t be scratched. They’d gone, the both of them, to rescue the “damsel in distress,” though, from what she’d heard, and from what she knew, that girl was no damsel, and was capable of anything she pleased. But the building had been blue, and the floors had been gone. Truth be told, so was the girl. Blue dripped down her chin, and the gun hung by her side hard. A bullet wound on the right of the head that stained dark skin bought a new puppet to life, while the third person ran. Where had he gone? They’d never know, for Alice and Bill were dead, and Paul ran.

There came more. There was the closest thing she got to a father figure, and he’d tied her up with no remorse. His eyes had always been a soft blue, and she’d known that his ex had loved to tilt his chin up to gaze into the oceans that presented the life to him, that now bought forth the music. The blazer fell, and the chair crashed, and the gates collapsed too. Wide, kooky, reclusive eyes span around the room as a blonde and another walked in. They finished their dance number, before he’d rescued them. With a grenade from wherever he’d obtained it from, the hero of the story unpinned it and threw it at the building. Had he been under the influence, or had he been unwell? They’d never know, for Henry Hidgens was in the bunker when it exploded into tiny shards, and the freaks ran.

The sleaze had run back to his dead lover once he’d realised what happened, and another bang sounded out. Meters away was another man, donned in black, a gun placed perfectly in a mesh jacket that sat across his chest. A pearlescent fog danced and twirled around him, leaves catching up. His Halloween hadn’t been so special after all, for a soldier’s drum marched towards the living couple, as the fog turned feisty and the blue splashed them with hints of the infection, not enough to harm them, but enough for them to taste freedom. More of the figurines joined them, heads held high, guns pointed towards them. Darts bloomed in the middle of the air, trying to plant themselves in the skin of the barista and the dork. The two managed to make their getaway once she planted a bullet in the soldier’s chest. Was it fatal enough to end his infection and set him free? They’d never know, for General John McNamara and his team were, as far as she was concerned, dead as well.

Somehow, somewhere they’d snatched the glimmer of gold that caught their wings in the fan. A rare coin that they’d pressed into the slot, and they were on their way to freedom. Clivesdale…it couldn’t be considered heaven, and more of a blissful hell. More of somewhere where the poorer could indulge in what it was like to be rich, but the rich formed the town out of wax. It was where they were headed, the brown-suited brunette and the uniformed barista. It _was,_ for a single gunshot through the roof caused them to propel not forwards, but down. Did they make it out? They didn’t know themselves, for things escalated highly after that.

A pipe went through her leg, and he felt like it had gone through his heart. She hid her pain well as she shuffled towards him, collapsing against his side when he was close enough. He started scanning the island for an escape, for a chance, maybe. He gripped the gold in his closed fist as she held his tie. He had both hands supporting her torso as she moved closer to him, and he didn’t want to let her go. Why should he let her go? They’d come so far, wasn’t it right for him to stay with her side? If she was going to die, why should it be his story who got told. He was nothing to Hatchetfield, and his name was plain, boring and beige. She? If she had a chance to redeem herself, she’d be able to clear her name and run. In that moment? Hearts were wide open, as she gripped his tie and tugged him down. With a bright smile on her face, as she whispered for him to hold her, she kissed him. He didn’t know what to do, it had been years since he’d been in a relationship, and he feared that he was going to forget _how_ to love. He stepped out, and lay his love on the ropes for her, as he kissed her back. The two moved in sync, but not in a sexual manner, in a dance that’d unite them. But why? Why had Emma chosen Paul over anyone? Why had it been them to get their happy ending? It didn’t make sense.

* * *

The universe recognised this, and the universe knew. A swirling sea of psychic energy burst to life, with the spider flinching at the melodic bang behind her. Placing her first set of arms by her side, she turned and saw a blue goddess figure in front of her. Unlike herself, with dark skin and silvery lilac hair, she was pale, as pale as the moon herself, with navy hair permanently cut short into a bob, and blue eyes that carried constant constellations. She wore a wide gown, made with the strings of purples, reds and blues. Her name? Astraia, the guardian of the moon, stars and meteor.

She laughed, as the spider turned back around, parting the blood again to gaze down into the earth, and she felt the slither of cold along her leg. “Webby.”

“Astraia,” the spider asked, as the being slid herself along the blood, though their gowns remained ethereal and untouched.

“Have you noticed?” The cosmic asked as she wrapped her silver-tinted arm around the spider’s waist. “They appear to not have contracted the virus in this one.”

“It always appears that way…” Webby sighed and shook her head, brushing the other off of her, her arms swinging by her side, her other arms folded up on her back. “John’s dead. Hannah’s dead-“

“And Uncle Wiley’s here, with us!” The smaller god giggled as she flashed in front of the taller being, causing her to stop. “But you know the rules, dearest Webby.”

The spider crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. “Hatchetfield dies if humanity survives.”

The blue gasped again and clapped her hands, as she laughed, baring pointed teeth. “And the wisest learns something!” She ran a hand along Webby’s shoulder as she circled her. “You may try, but your widdle John, and your teency weency widdle Hannah banana will never escape this island. No California, no reunion.”

“Not on my watch,” she growled, her eyes turning a vicious red, which forced the smaller god to back off.

“On your watch? Or on PEIPs?” She asked, and a laugh followed that seemed to boom throughout the empty realm, blood splashing their dresses, though nothing stained.

“That wasn’t funny, Astraia.”

“I found it _hilarious,”_ she hummed, and as Webby turned, Astraia grabbed her arm, tugging her back on to the floor. More blood splashed away, which left another gateway to the real world. “And this? This is gonna be one _show stopping number,_ Web.”

* * *

Emma limped out of her hospital room with the assistance of a nurse. The nurse, she was kind enough, and she had to put up with Emma’s temper for the two weeks she’d been there. She hobbled out, and adjusted the bag on her back as she looked to the colonel who’d been assigned to her case. Helen Schaffer wasn’t supposed to be working alone, but the lieutenant who was acting as her supervisor, Xander Lee, had gone through the loss of his significant other during The Apotheosis.

 _Make that the both of us,_ she often thought, but her and Paul had only kissed once, and somehow along the line, he got parted to the hospital once they’d been rescued by PEIP. She hadn’t been able to see him due to the fact that they had to be “quarantined,” whatever the fuck _that_ meant. She got her kiss with her beanpole, and he’d been torn apart from her! Where was the sympathy? She hated to admit it, but in her vulnerable, and extreme loss of blood state, she’d been intimidated by the soldiers, but once seated in the JEIP, and Xander had collapsed in tears, she’d felt slightly safer. She’d passed out after then, but still, the thought was there.

According to the news, ‘candlelight vigils lined the streets of Clivesdale as the citizens tried to make sense of the unspeakable loss that was, the sister city of Hatchetfield.’ _If_ Hatchetfield was now being classified as a city, she still found it bullshit. She’d left home when it was a tiny town, and nostalgia prevented her from thinking otherwise. When the news started spewing bullshit to those who’d believe it, she’d scoffed and rolled her eyes. _Good with it gone,_ she’d said, but there’d been others who knew wouldn’t benefit from the vanished island.

Xander was one of them. Born and raised as one of the only openly gay men there, he’d learnt how to survive alongside his dad. Racist remarks had hurt him, but set his skin to stone. The stone only frosted away when a cold breath of air in the physical form of his general had appeared. They’d fallen in love, married, and adopted two young kids whose parents died at an extremely young age in a fire. Now, those kids were left with one parent and an aunt who was having to support her best friend on her shoulders. With the island gone, it drowned the memories of him and his husband, John, and with everything waterlogged, there was now a point of no return.

The other person she knew wouldn’t benefit from it was…well, it was Paul. Paul Matthews, who never knew anything _but_ the island, where he found comfort in the island and his various amounts of suits, with his normal black coffee and his horrendous flirting techniques, that had been Paul. With the autism diagnosis, and the anxious stimming when he went into Beanies, _that_ was Paul. She’d been told all of this, because PEIP had told her. She didn’t think she was supposed to know, and that the information was supposed to remain classified, though they bent their rules for her. She had a feeling something else was going on. Something dangerous. Something toxic. Something… _blue._

Who was she to comment on that when she was being delusional herself? There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t damaged by that point, including her mind. When was the last time she was stable? She asked herself _that_ a lot too. PEIP also told her that her and Paul had more in common that they ever thought. Had Paul gone through similar things Emma had? Impossible. How could anyone hurt someone so…

So…

_Pure?_

“Emma!” The voice snapped.

Emma hummed and looked up, as Colonel Schaffer tilted her head slightly and sighed. “Sorry, did I miss something?”

Schaffer shook her head as a sob came from outside the door. “I was discussing your relocating service, though I was interrupted by the lieutenant having yet another mental breakdown. Come on, let’s get moving.”

“Not so fast!” A voice called, and running into the room, landing flat on his face, handcuffs snapped, was Paul. And he was…

Blue.

The office occupant straightened himself up, and he was holding…a gun? That wasn’t very Paul Matthews of him. Emma watched in amazement, as he aimed it at Colonel Schaffer. “Please, please don’t- don’t- the monsters! The monsters, they’re real! The- the m- _mons_ ters that live in your head, that y-that _we_ should _dread!_ They’re real! They’re-“

“Lieut, we got a rogue!” Schaffer shouted to the door behind her, but it didn’t open. Nothing happened. Nothing moved. “He’s singing!”

Emma, hearing the latter, snapped her head to face him, and it wasn’t him that was glowing blue.

It was his eyes.

“Oh, shit! Lieut!” Schaffer shouted, but Paul, who seemed to have a burst of energy, pushed her out of the room, snatching the keys from her, locking the door. Emma was stunned, and winced as she applied pressure to her leg. She felt herself tumbling, but found herself cushioned by the glow of a figure. He had his arms wrapped around her, and he was…

Crying?

“Paul?” Emma asked softly, and she hesitantly pulled out of his arms. He had a nosebleed, and his saliva was opaquer, the paint from his eyes dripping down and out until it was a sparkling, deep blueish purple.

“Don-don’t let the-the _monsters,_ she- she’s coming, Emma, she’s coming, I-I have to protect you!” He said, as he pulled her back against his chest.

She winced, and she understood it wasn’t his fault, and though he was bleeding blue, she wasn’t intimidated. “Who’s coming?”

“ _Astraia.”_ He hummed her name so elegantly, and Emma relaxed at the tone. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t hurting her. Somehow, she knew she was safe.

Until.

“Emma, Emma listen to me. You need to run.”

“What?!” She exclaimed, looking at him, and he shook his head.

“Don’t hold back, just run, I-I don’t want to kill you, she’s going to make me kill you, Emma they’re developing a cure but they won’t have it for a while just please- please I need you to _harness your hopes on just one person-“_

“Paul?” She questioned, feeling her heart hammer deeply in her chest as she moved out of his arms, as his song faded into one she knew fairly well.

“ _Because you know a harness was only made for one.”_ Violently, he tugged on her arm and forced her on her feet. Emma could hear Schaffer pounding at the door, but her focus was on the pain shooting up her leg. Her bandages, with the sudden movements, were becoming looser, and she needed to fix them…but how. 

“ _Don't telegraph your passes! You'll end up with molasses. Cauterized in syrup, and syrup and molasses.”_

Emma listened into his words and moved further away from him, gulping down her anxiety. He was…he was referencing earlier in the day, from two weeks ago. Sam. Ted. Charlotte. Dead. Sam, Ted, Charlotte, victims of The Apotheosis…where was the guardian again?

 _“And I’m checking out the asses! The assets that attract us, to anything that moves-.”_ He dipped down to try and snatch her after twirling and humming to himself, but she ducked out of the way, scuttling back into the wall. She needed all the energy she could get. This was a disgusting game of cat and mouse, one with one outcome. Life…or death.

 _“We’re deep inside the grooves! And it’s time to shake the rations, ‘cause someone’s gonna cash in-“_ the room turned blue, “ _the plot it turns again, the reference starts at ten!”_ He moved forward, and tugged her arm up, against his chest, his arms wrapped around her chest, her back against his stomach, as he danced with her. “ _Well, show me, a word that rhymes with pavement, and I won’t kill your parents!”_

“Good luck, bub, they’re already dead-“ she chuckled, but he tightened his grip. She cried out in pain as he kicked the back of her leg, but he couldn’t tell if it was Paul…or “Paul.”

“ _And roast them on a spit. And a-don't you try to etch it, o permanently sketch it!”_ He spun her round and gripped her waste, cupping her chin, tilting her head up until they made eye contact. “ _Or you're gonna catch a bad bad cold!”_

 _“And the freaks have stormed the White House?”_ Emma suddenly sang, and her eyes flew open. She heard Schaffer cry out from behind the door as she pounded harder, but Emma began to feel the rhythm flowing neon down her veins. Somehow, her end wasn’t as bad as she’d originally expected.

“ _I moved into a lighthouse!”_ Paul finished, proudly, as he grinned, his teeth stained blue. He let her go, continuing his dance number. “ _It’s on a scenic quay, it’s oh so far away, far away from the beginning! The shroud is made of linen! The yearling took your purse, the goth kid has a hearse.”_ He gripped her again before she could move any further away, and he tilted his head, acting like a puppy. She wished she could have fought back, but she was so…so relaxed.

 _“Heart-breaking, earth-quaking. Kiwis they are home baking, minds wide open truly…”_ She sang, and she tried to figure out what she was saying, though the lyrics made no sense, as did the situation she found herself trapped in.

Satisfied, Paul continued, moving her in a slow dance. “ _Leisure, a leisure suit is nothing. It's nothing to be proud of in this late century.”_

 _“And I'm asking you to hold me!”_ Emma exclaimed, no longer trying to fight the song, but letting it overwhelm her. She looked into his eyes, and felt something dribble down her own chin that she chose not to move away. _Just like the morning paper. Pinched between your pointer, your index and your thumb.”_

 _“It's a semi-automatic!”  
  
“Believers are ecstatic. You see the way they cling,” _she said almost sarcastically, before they finished off the song together.   
  
_“The cold metallic sting. And I'm living in a coma, for Donna de Varona. The harness made of hopes, the lovers on the ropes. Nun is to church as the parrot is to perch and my heart’s wide open truly…”_ In a split second, Emma was pulled into a kiss, and when they pulled away, it was over.

From the other side of the door, Schaffer threw her beret down on the floor as she watched the translucent figure of Astraia in one corner, watching over her two new rulers, and Webby in the other. She turned to Xander and shook her head. “We failed. Again.”

“We always do…” he croaked and wiped his eyes. “Secure the base. I’m going home.”

“But-“

“Do it, Helen.” He said, as he hung his head and walked out, pulling out a flask from his pocket.

Schaffer sighed, ensuring the door was still locked as she followed him. In one universe, they survived the apocalypse, and more specifically the inevitable musical pandemic, and beat Astraia. Just not in this one.

**Author's Note:**

> paulkins: kiss at the start  
> everyone: oh fl-  
> me: and then they die  
> the readers: and then they DIE?
> 
> and also,,,  
> me: and webby and astraia were roOMmATES  
> yall: oh my god they were roommates (someone plz get this vine reference and what it actually means, it's like the two bros chilling in a hot tub 5 ft apart cause they're not gay, anyways okayhave a nice time)


End file.
